


I Hate It When He Does That

by QuelleDommage



Category: Clue (1985)
Genre: I'm very serious about this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuelleDommage/pseuds/QuelleDommage
Summary: I wrote this whole thing strung out on NyQuil. No proofreading, we die like men.
Post-ending 3, etc, etc





	

Sitting on the park bench, Wadsworth leafed through Miss Marple's latest exploits, feeling a strange mix of boredom and agitation. The night's events, complex and unexpected as they had been, had more or less fallen in line with his plans. A certain _someone_ running ten minutes behind schedule was throwing him off, however, and he tapped his foot anxiously as he tried to distract himself with his reading.

But when he saw Mr. Green approach down the dark path, his face lit up in excitement. He closed his paperback and stuffed it hurriedly into his jacket pocket. Green extended a hand to help him up from the bench, which Wadsworth enthusiastically accepted, pulling himself up.

“That went better than I could have ever hoped!” he exclaimed, kissing Green’s hand, still held in his own.

“Gee, I’m not so sure,” Green said. “I felt like we were this close to getting caught or getting killed. And that chandelier? I’ve been picking glass out of the soles of my shoes all night.”

“Sacrifices must be made, especially for a show like this one,” said Wadsworth, gesticulating as he spoke. He half-dragged Green behind him as he started down the path toward the opposite end of the park.

“I guess…” Green trailed off as he tried to straighten himself up.

“It’s a shame about the blood though,” Wadsworth said, inspecting his suit. “This jacket is absolutely ruined.”

“Oh, I figured you weren’t planning to buttle much more after this,” Green responded.

“Was that a _snide remark_  I heard, ‘Mister Green’?” Wadsworth asked, feigning indignation.

“I guess it could’ve been,” Green said with a grin. Wadsworth gave him a nudge in response.

“That’s another thing I could’ve done without,” said Green, fidgeting with his coat. “What’s with all the throwing and shoving? I’m no rag doll.”

“Oh you know it’s all in good fun.” Wadsworth said, grinning more to himself than at Green.

“Is it? You get so serious about this stuff, I think I’ve bruised my jaw ‘cause of you.”

“Sometimes you have to go the extra mile for authenticity, my dear.”

“Oh come on, you know you didn’t have to go through all this play-acting and faking your own death and-–”

“Play-acting??” Wadsworth interrupted. “I beg your pardon! This entire evening was a carefully orchestrated event. I planned for each and every detail and no one suspected a thing. Even your divergence from the script couldn’t ruin the perfect crime.”

“‘Divergence from the script’?” Green asked. “You know I don’t talk like some kinda fancy British mystery writer or whatever. Normal people don’t talk in dramatic monologues.”

Wadsworth seemed shocked. “Some of those lines were verbatim things I’ve said in conversation with you!”

“Yeah well I never said you were normal people.”

“I thought my speeches were natural and convincing, thank you very much.”

“Maybe, but I still don’t see why you had to fake your own death. And in such an over-the-top way, too. We could’ve just left and been done with it.”

“Oh ‘Mister Green’, I had so many loose ends to tie up. And I would be a fugitive, otherwise. A man on the run. You know that kind of life wouldn't suit me. Besides, you know full well I wouldn’t have settled for any less than this.”

“Boy, do I know it ‘Mister Boddy’.”

“Please,” Wadsworth said, adopting a faux aristocratic tone. "Call me Wadsworth.”

Green snorted. “Sure thing, Jeeves.”

Wadsworth rolled his eyes. "You do need to work on your lines, my dear, but I'm not complaining."

"That sounds an awful lot like complaining to me."

"I would call that constructive criticism."

"I'm sure you would," Green said, trying his best to sound annoyed. He did not. "You know I'm no actor. Undercover work really isn't the same as putting on some elaborate mystery dinner theatre."

"One would still expect at least a little more skill at improvisation from that kind of work," Wadsworth retorted. "What kind of person speaks with such awkward, stilted interjections? You don't have to actually _say_  what character traits you possess, it should be inherent in your motions!"

"Look, I don't have time for this," Green shook his head as they finally reached his car. "It's nearly four in the morning and we have a long flight we still need to catch. We can argue over my performance after I've had some sleep."

"This is no time to sleep! We still need to gather the money, our false passports, our luggage--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Green rolled his eyes. As if Wadsworth hadn't rehearsed this plan for month on end, drilling every detail into his mind.

They entered the car. As Green turned the key in the ignition, Wadsworth leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

"This really has gone better than I could have ever hoped," he said. "You had better hurry though. We're nearly fifteen minutes behind schedule, and I refuse to miss this plane."

"Yeah, yeah," Green said, smiling. "I know."


End file.
